


We don't have to dance

by witchneedlove



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Songfic, deviations from the canon, mentions of deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchneedlove/pseuds/witchneedlove
Summary: A crowd of people is having fun at the festival for what may be the last time, and Dream's eyes are caught by a guy standing apart from everyone in big round glasses. He will have time to regret it a thousand times, but right now he wants to talk to someone one last time just from the heart.
Relationships: Dream/GeorgeNotFound
Kudos: 2





	We don't have to dance

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [We don't have to dance](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/766854) by tartalletka. 



> from the author: We Don't Have To Dance — Andy Black, I love this song

The hum of the cheering crowd, the lame music, and the lack of fresh air in the open space were very annoying. It's the height of the festival, and everyone is already drunk, full of energy, but already not thinking a damn thing. No one pays attention to strangers, conflicts that arise over trifles, and even more so to what happens outside of the celebration. Because of the pile of garlands and the occasional fireworks exploding in the distance, it was impossible to see the sun go down. And it was difficult to watch the sunset directly from the city center. Dream would never have come to this festival if he had not been at the same time with the neo-revolutionaries, who, like him, did not please the authorities and simply could not sit still. The thirst for adrenaline and the desire to show what you are worth. The higher you are on the social ladder — the more people who want to hang your head over the fireplace and the more senseless victims that no one will remember. If only he did not break and fall, with passion passing over other people's heads.

Dream sighs and moves away again, when a small group of people stops by him, talking cheerfully and unaware of the violation of someone else's personal space. His head starts to hurt more and more because of the stuffiness and noise, and the guy is afraid to lose his guard before the main part of the plan begins. He won't forgive himself if it's all his fault, or worse, if something kills him. It was worth at least a few minutes to distract yourself and take a deep breath, but only outside of this crowd. This will be the beginning of something global, a new page in history and, perhaps, his name as one of the culprits of what is happening. A new stage in his life will come, and it is unlikely that he will be able to rest.

The number of people hasn't changed, but there seems to be less space. Dream's gaze falls on the man offering to buy a drink, but he immediately dismisses the thought. It was impossible to be sober here, but he would not allow himself to drink even a little. Dream looks for the least crowded place and notices a man sitting on a bench far away from everyone. He's propping his head up with one hand, an elbow on his knee, and the other is holding a cardboard cup with some colored drink in it. He's wearing big, round, white-rimmed sunglasses, which are the most conspicuous, and he looks terribly tired. Dream wants to ask what he is doing here and whether he came here on his own, but it does not seem a good idea to be distracted by some conversations at such a crucial moment.

But he has time. The last hours and minutes before everything changes.

The guy does not notice how a masked stranger sits down at the other end of the bench, continuing to stare at the cup. Dream also rests his head on his hand, directing his gaze at the guy, but still does not dare to start a conversation. Come on, why can't he just turn around and ask who he is and what he wants from him? This guy doesn't care that much? Time passes as they both sit silently and don't move. Dream is a little tense, and the other doesn't care, but he sighs heavily and looks for a second at the one who has been watching him intently all this time.

― Hello? - still starts Dream dialog. There was no answer, and the guy with the cup continued to ignore him and look anywhere but at him. ― Hey, it's not polite to ignore people when they say hello to you.

— My mother told me a long time ago that you shouldn't talk to weird strangers in masks, ― the guy raises his glasses to his forehead to examine the new interlocutor. - Especially if they look like the hitmen in a cheap horror movie.

― It's like you've seen a lot of them in your life, ― Dream rolls his eyes and smiles, knowing he's not going to see it.

― You're the first, but still. ― The guy finally takes a sip from his drink and grimaces in disgust. ― God, all the free drinks at festivals are always shitty.

― Yes, and they might be poisoned or something, so I don't recommend taking any free food at all.

― How nice, are you taking care of me? It doesn't look like the kind of thing a hit man does — he puts the cup down somewhere behind the bench, leans back, crosses his legs, and looks at Dream with a tired smile.

― Maybe I just want to kill you myself. And then sell the organs and use the money to prepare for the assassination of the president? ― Dream grinned, and before he knew it, he was no longer nervous.

― Cool. In a way, it's an honor, because I don't know how I could have ruined someone's life so much that they hired a hitman just for me. I don't even talk to anyone.

― Well, everyone can have different motives. What's your name, by the way?

― George. You?

— To you, Georgie, I'll be the masked stranger who stole your heart at some lame festival, the one who will come to you in your dreams for months, - he moves closer to George, not in the middle of the bench, his arm hanging over the back of it. He smiled at the confusion on the other man's face and laughed. - Let's get to know each other.

— I doubt that will be the case. Is your name that secret? ― The smile on the strange stranger's mask made one feel uncomfortable, but the frivolous tone and silly laughter made the atmosphere between them more friendly.

― Mmm, I'm just giving you something to think about. If you find out my name, all the mystery of our acquaintance will disappear. Dream gave a mock sad sigh and lowered his head.

— Are you saying that if you know my name, you'll forget me the next day? ― George protested, and pointedly moved away, pressing himself against the edge of the bench.

― Maybe?

And he's not lying. George seems like a nice person to him after a couple of minutes of communication, and if he does not remember his name, then he will definitely remember his face, illuminated by festive garlands and lanterns, and the smile with which he claimed that Dream's jokes suck and are not funny, but a little better than annoying music, which can be heard better away from noisy people (and which undoubtedly makes it even worse). He will remember George's laugh, too, because it seems to be the best sound he has heard all day and the beginning of the evening. Dream does not take him seriously and talks to him, only to stop being nervous, because the stress starts to hurt his head. It had been a long time since he'd talked to someone just like that, heart-to-heart, about every daily routine, and told them the terrible jokes he remembered from the old days, which only became funny because they were so idiotic.

He wants to stay here for two more nights like this. He might not have been so callous and insensitive if he had met George earlier. Fuck. Dream drives away all these thoughts and blames everything on fatigue and the scale of the event. There was no way he was going to regret his actions, he had to go for it at all costs.

― So… Why are you here?

― What?

— I mean.. You don't look like you're enjoying everything that's going on at this festival. You don't even look like someone who wanted to come here to have fun with friends or for free drinks and snacks. But you're still here, and you could have left before I got to you — he finally asked the question that Dream was supposed to start this conversation with.

― Oh. Well, I don't know. At first I just went because there was nothing else to do, and then I decided that I should stay and listen to Schlatt's speech. Which I've either already missed or I'm still waiting for — George mused, considering his own motive for staying in this place. Yes, he would definitely have left or fallen asleep on this bench if it hadn't been for the masked man who appeared out of nowhere. — What are you doing here? Seriously, did you come to kill the head?

― Mmm, this will probably be another one of my secrets.

Dream doesn't want to break George. He doesn't want him to get involved in these violent power struggles. He doesn't want to hear what George has to say to him after Schlatt really dies and L'manburg ceases to exist as it was before. Dream feels alive for the first time in a long time and feels his heart begin to beat faster as he looks into the dark eyes opposite through his mask. It can't even be called eye contact, because George can't see Dream's face and can't understand what's going on inside him.

― Everyone's dancing there… Can join too? ― after this sentence, Dream immediately notices that the terrible music has changed to no more slow and pleasant and everyone has started dancing with each other, finally stopping making so much noise. Heck. They had very little time left to talk.

— We don't have to dance, either. This is a formality.

― You're right. But I'd like to, to be honest — George wants to say something else, but Dream beats him to it.

― Shall we go back? Away from here. I already have a headache from these sounds ― he gets up from the bench and looks at George, who is in no hurry to get up after him.

― Schlatt should start his speech soon. I don't want to miss hearing what I've wasted my evening for, ― he looks up at the still — empty stage towering over the square. ― You go, I'll come back later.

― To hell with Schlatt, to hell with the government, to hell with their disgusting festivals without proper entertainment, ― Dream grabs George's arm, probably too roughly, forcing him to stand up and follow him, eyes wide with surprise. — Don't you care? You still don't look interested in all this, you look very different from everyone else. ― He's walking away, away from all this. The cool autumn wind blows in his face, and Dream can finally afford to breathe in the fresh air.

― Where are you taking me? ― There's a startled note in his voice, and Dream curses himself inwardly, stopping short. I shouldn't have approached this strange guy at all, because of which there may be problems. Or have already appeared.

― I'm sorry. ― He lets go of George's hand and sits down on the ground, covering his face with his hands through the mask and sighing heavily. He doesn't hear the guy leave or run away, which he should have done if he had a sense of self-preservation. Dream wants to tell George right now about what a terrible person he is and that he is not himself. That George should stay away from him, because he could snap at any moment and do a lot of things that he wouldn't regret at all.

Dream feels a hand on his shoulders, lightly wrapping around him. He stops breathing for a second, trying to understand everything that's going on in his own head. He is completely devoid of empathy, unable to love, too cruel and uses people only for his own purposes. What was George doing next to him? At one point, Dream allowed some random guy from the festival to hug him while sitting silently on the cold ground. George doesn't understand, and he never will. This is not even a person that he can use for his own purposes. Not because he doesn't want to hurt this guy, but because he's just useless.

― George didn't need to know that the dream thinks about all the people as objects.

― So… Why don't you tell me your name? - a soft, careful whisper makes shiver and clench hands into fists. He does it so carefully, fully aware that he understands absolutely nothing. He knows that he won't be able to find out anything, but he wants to try to see at least the tip of the iceberg.

― Dream.

― Thank you.

George immediately turns around when he hears Schlatt come on stage and begin his speech. The crowd fell silent and the music was replaced by his voice. The loud sound from the old speakers cuts the ear, making some words incomprehensible. He says something about some changes in the city that make the guy wince and sigh heavily. If George could, if he had the will power and the ability, he would have escaped from the L'Marburg immediately after the change of power.

― Oh, my God. Life will become even more impossible here.

George's words brought Dream to his senses and turned to the source of the sound: Schlatt was actually standing on the stage and talking about the changes that had been made. Here it is, the very moment is about to begin.

It remains to decide what to do with George.

It was really nice to meet you, Georgie, ― he says, turning to face the guy and grabbing his chin, forcing him to look at him. He runs a finger down his cheek, runs her other hand through his dark hair, and looks into his puzzled eyes, which reflect the flashing lights. His cheeks take on a pink tinge that is almost invisible in the dark. George pursed his lips nervously, looking away. The fact that he can't understand anything is just as well. ― _Let's never meet again._

― What? — he asks, no longer paying attention to what is happening behind them.

― Masked strangers don't usually stay in your life for long, ― he tried to chuckle. — I don't want you to know what you don't need to know.

— You want to kill Schlatt. ― he gets a nod in return and something finally starts to clear up.

— You need to run. Even if you don't want to, even if there's something you care about left here. Forget me and everything that happened at this festival.

— If we ever meet again anyway?

— I won't let that happen. You have no idea how terrible a person I am and how much pain I can cause you. I don't care about you and your feelings, I can't blame myself for that, just because I can't lie to myself.

George is silent. He is silent, looks down and hears that the noise is starting to rise again, only this time it is completely different-worried. He really should get out of here if he wants to keep his life. He gets up and, without knowing why or why, leaves a kiss on this annoying mask with a smile, then still, without saying a word, hurries away. Thoughts swirl in my head like a hurricane during a storm and mix into a heterogeneous mass. There are screams behind him now, and George squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to imagine how someone out there could have had their arm or head blown off. He can look at it all from the hill and imagine what would have happened to him if Dream hadn't sat on the bench next to him, glaring at him the way George did at the crappy drink.

This is the longest hour of his life. He didn't hear Dream whisper «good-bye» when George was out of earshot before heading back to the square to finish what he'd started. He doesn't know exactly when George will die, but at least not in front of Dream. Away from all this crowd, his death wouldn't be as pathetic and stupid.

In general, this is the first useless person whose death he would not want to know about. Who he wouldn't even want to know about if he knew that it would be stuck in his head for a while longer, and that it would be extremely difficult to get him out of there. Well, Dream has created another problem for himself.

_The multicolored fireworks lights looked very different with people shouting and numerous splashes of blood._

**Author's Note:**

> instead of translating a chapter of another fanfiction, i do this.


End file.
